Assumptions
by SpellboundWinter
Summary: Kyle Broflovski was nearly always concerned about his friends. For good reason too. Stan, Kenny and Cartman were literally insane. How can you not worry? At least there was one person that Kyle never needed to worry about. Craig Tucker. He was responsible and stable... At least, that's what Kyle assumed anyways. Craig/Kyle. Cryle.


**I'm in a Cryle mood.**

**Or Kyle/Craig or Craig/Kyle. Whatever.**

**;D Enjoy peeps.**

* * *

_"Kyle, I'm drunk. Really drunk. And I'm lonely. Please come over already."_

There were plenty of times when Kyle Broflovski worried about his friends.

Because, have you met them? It was like spending all your time at the mental ward for pure enjoyment!

For starters, there was that man in the orange parka, Kenny. Everybody knew him because he was poor, that and he would do any type of dare for a few bucks. He was always getting hurt in some way, shape or form. Kyle would often find himself stopping the blonde from doing things that could cost him his life, like for example, the time where he and Clyde were going to play chicken on the interstate. Kyle was the voice of reason.

It was lucky that Kenny hasn't died for being so reckless.

And then there was Stan. Kyle's super best friend and doppelgänger of Craig Tucker. He seemed always upset because of his extreme off again and on again girlfriend, Wendy. But, that never bothered Kyle. It wasn't annoying. It was the status quo. What was annoying was that the noirette's hands were permanently glued to the bottle. In short, he was an alcoholic. He liked to drink when things were hard. He liked to drink when things weren't hard. A shot of whiskey in the morning and the afternoon… and on his lunch breaks and at night… Pretty much all the time.

Twenty-one and he was acting like a toddler.

Stan and Kenny, Kyle sure worried a lot about them. It was if their actions never fazed them. They kept putting themselves in danger without a second thought.

Kyle was predictable and responsible, the exact opposite.

And Cartman? Cartman didn't count.

But, he never had to worry about Craig.

Craig was responsible.

He was made of strong, but cold metals and alloys. It coated his skin and insides, overflowing with wires and chips, all functioning to be unfeeling and unwavering. There wasn't a heart inside the mechanical Craig. No blood, no bones… just a hollow husk of circuits.

At least, that's what Kyle _thought_.

Craig Tucker wasn't the type to leave cryptic voicemails and texts. He was always the sober and cynical one. Kyle could see him alone… His four Guinea pigs scampering about as he sat on the floor with them, playing while Red Racer played softly in the background. The image fit the description of Craig Tucker.

But, that was just one of Kyle's assumptions about Tucker.

And assumptions aren't always true.

Kyle shuffled to the door with his phone in hand, staring the hunk of wood nervously. The chullo man was acting so strange, who knows what he was doing in there? In a sense, he almost didn't want to know. He gave his phone another glance before pocketing it, gathering the strength to knock on the door. Kyle brought his knuckle to it, tapping anxiously.

He wasn't sure what he was going to see.

Kyle stood, waiting patiently, rubbing his arms as his teeth began to chatter loudly. It wasn't the cold, no, he was used to the Colorado weather.

It was almost reminiscent of Tweek. Kyle felt like a spring wound too tight, ready to snap at any moment.

What if Craig was angry or upset? What if he was sad, crying even? Kyle mentally prepared himself for any mood the man might have been in. Kyle always took the role of the mother goose and voice of reason, why stop now?

The door suddenly creaked open.

…Kyle wasn't exactly expecting what happened next.

Maybe it was the noirette standing in his boxers with disheveled hair? Or maybe it was the beer bottle neck locked between his fingers? Or maybe it was the very out of character smile on his face, showing off his crooked pearly whites?

Or… yeah, all of those.

Craig snatched him up in his arms with a loud sound of surprise. Kyle went ridged in the man's arms as he squeezed. It wasn't much like him to be touchy… let alone… happy. The noirette laughed heartedly, "Oh, man. Kyle, you're here! I wasn't expecting you for another thirty minutes or so."

"Honey, I'm home." The redhead said rather sarcastically as the man squeezed the life out of him. He grunted, feeling each individual vertebrae pop with a loud- _crack! _It wasn't as bad as it sounded, however. It felt alright until Craig continued to crush and squash. The air left his lungs. He felt like a ketchup bottle ready to burst. "Are… are you okay? I-I got your texts. I was really worried."

Craig must have noticed just how hard he was hugging the Jewrat as he placed him back onto the floor with a curious glint in his eye. Or were they just glassy from drinking? Or was it because he was happy? Kyle didn't know. They were just assumptions.

And you know how those go.

"You got here quick, no way Sheila would have cut you loose this late," Craig still stood over Kyle with that… happy smile, "Were your parents' home?"

"No. Ike was at Karen's and mom and dad were out on date night. I guess they were all on dates... except me." He finished quietly.

There was an unnatural silence at first and the smile on Craig's face slipped down into a grin.

Kyle was almost unsettled.

Smiling? He never smiled, let alone show too much emotion. Once in a blue moon would the ends of his mouth curl upward.

The redhead looked left, then right… Was he just going to stand there?

Kyle attempted to lean up and peck his cheek but fell short when Craig pulled away last minute. He twirled on his heel, strolling back to the couch, nearly slipping and falling flat on his face. Socks on hardwood floors weren't such a good idea.

…Even Stan didn't act this way. Kyle wasn't sure exactly what to do. He was acting strange… that was true.

It was almost like there had been a sensory overload and Craig couldn't function properly. Like his wires were crossed and he was malfunctioning.

Mechanical Craig was ready to fall apart.

The redhead's nose turned up at a familiar smell. The house smelled like the bottom of a beer barrel or more specifically, Stan's room. He took a moment to look around, placing his shoes by the door.

If it wasn't obvious, Craig's apartment was bare.

It wasn't completely empty but it had very few things lying around. The TV was on the coffee table and the couch sat next to it. Nothing else but a sleeping bag in his room and a dresser. That was about it. Said once he liked the minimalist look. Kyle always took it as a reflection of himself. Boring, safe and uninteresting, just as Craig enjoyed life.

But, it was just an assumption.

"So, Craig," Kyle started carefully, he could hear the Guinea pigs upstairs squeaking, as if sensing something was wrong. "Um, how are you?"

Craig flopped on the couch, sinking into the cushions before grabbing up the remote and flipping through channels thoughtlessly. He wasn't even looking in the general direction of the TV screen. He could have been ordering porn or something and he wouldn't even know.

Maybe he was drunk…

Most definitely.

The massive amount of beer bottles littering the coffee table next to the TV said it all. Kyle could only assume that it was drunk in all one sitting.

Craig tapped the remote against his hand, shaking it. As if it wasn't working when it clearly was. He examined it closely, squinting.

He wasn't malfunctioning…

The poor thing was plastered.

"Hey, why don't you have an apartment already?" the noirette brightened, looking up at the man questioningly, "It has all the privacy you could ask for. Or hey, you could live with me. You'd love it here. I'd feed you, and love you and buy you a sleeping bag too."

"Yeah… Yeah! It would be fun, but I would have to get a bed. The lack of one is unsettling…" Kyle let out a little sigh in exasperation, "Craig, let's not switch the subject."

The silence between them was pregnant and ready to pop. It needed a C-section immediately. Ha, puns. But, in all seriousness, Kyle was no longer assuming that something was wrong, there _was_ something wrong.

The man was too stubborn to admit it.

Kyle decided to take a seat beside him, trying to seem less intimidating. He was beginning to loom over Craig and the man noticed. Kyle hoped and prayed that he wouldn't turn into his mother, worrying and nagging.

The redhead scooted close to the noirette, grasping his hand, threading his fingers into the crotch of his his. The Jew was ready to butter him up and comfort him, whatever the problem may be.

Craig turned back to the man, his beer breath tickling his nose, "Do you know how lame you sound right now? You live with your mom and dad and you _call_ them mom and dad."

"Yeah, it's what _I_ call them," he shrugged, "I'm not going to say Sheila and Gerald. That's just weird."

The chullo man rested his head in the crook of his neck, slumping into Kyle. The smell of beer intoxicating and irritating.

It seemed as though drunk Craig and sober Craig were two different people.

Kyle remembered a particular party from high school… It was in Token's garage where there were beer pong tables set up and Stan was dominating the game. Kyle wasn't into the whole scene and stood off to the side, drinking from his cup of whatever. It was alcohol. That was just what teenagers did essentially.

And all of a sudden, Craig appeared and was talking with him. It was strange and let alone stranger when he noticed Tweek wasn't tagging along.

He was being awfully chatty. He was smiling and laughing at all of Kyle's nerdy jokes and puns. He was actually interested with what he was saying. Kyle was having a fun time talking with him… until…

Out of the blue, Craig had leaned in close, whispering softly, 'hey, why don't you let me suck your cock?'

Whoa! Totally out of character, right?

Laughing it off, Kyle moved forward and spoke quietly, 'maybe some other time'.

What was he supposed to say?

Kyle was a gentleman, and gentlemen don't let other drunken gentleman suck dick. Kyle refused but… it was very unlike Craig. He wasn't forward, let alone forward. If the redhead would have said yes, he was sure Craig would have gotten on his knees in front of the whole crowd.

Drunk Craig could be smiling and touchy, chattering about anything on his mind and laughing at any joke, no matter how terrible it was... while sober Craig was just… Craig.

But, he was different tonight.

Craig nuzzled the man's cheek, letting out a loud scoff, "Parents? Who needs parents anyways?"

Craig's arms entangled and hung loosely around his neck. The end of his nose was red, huh, he didn't even notice. He sniffed, letting out a groan, starting on another rant.

"Thomas and Laura. That's what I call my parents. I hate them. I do," He rambled on, running his fingers through Kyle's Jewfro as he droned, "They didn't raise me. I raised myself. I raised myself into who I am. They weren't parents, they were just strangers that lived in my house."

Wow, he broke out of character again. Drunk Craig? Yeah right. This Craig was spewing his emotions, feelings spraying out of his mouth.

Like bile raising in his throat, it wouldn't stop coming out.

Kyle witnessed the man go on and on, rambling on and on, but yet trying to calm himself down. It failed and just made himself more and more upset.

"My friends. I hate them too. They're never around anymore. Because I'm an asshole apparently. Clyde and Token told me that… t-that they didn't want to associate with me because of my attitude. That I bring people down."

Kyle swallowed roughly, "Look… Craig, it's okay-"

"Look at Tweek, he's hanging around with Kenny more than me anymore. Smoking pot with that fuck-ass seems like his new hobby. I'm not good enough for him. My own best friend decided that I'm not good enough."

Craig's face turned an uncharacteristically red before he covered it, tugging his hair, breathing ragged as he tried desperately to calm himself.

Kyle froze, not sure what to do exactly. What could he do? Instead, he went on instinct. "Hey, come on… It's okay." The redhead cooed, peppering little kisses on his cheek, pulling him into his arms, letting the man break down in his embrace.

"I… I don't care. Whatever," the man buried himself deep in his chest, as if hiding from Kyle, "I have such shitty friends. Shitty parents."

"And a shitty boyfriend…?"

Craig chuckled into Kyle's sweater, breath still erratic, "Maybe. You smell like shit and you look like shit so by process of elimination you must be shit."

Joking around, that must have been a good sign.

"Everything is just shit." Craig spoke up.

"You sound like Stan."

The two were silent. The flickering TV illuminating their skin. The occasional squeak coming from the Guinea pigs in their cages upstairs. The chatter of an infomercial hummed in the background. Kyle ran his fingers through his messy locks. Craig always liked to keep his hair under his hat for some unknown reason. But, Kyle loved it. It was always soft and smelled like flowery shampoos.

"You know, you aren't alone Craig." Kyle pet the noirette's cheek, tilting his head upward to face him. "Everyone else might leave you and everyone might think you're an asshole but… I won't. I'll be here for as long as you need me. Even if we break up for some reason, I'll stick around."

The noirette huffed, "Save me the cheesy melodrama, fire crotch."

"I'm serious. You might be my boyfriend but you're my best friend too. My other super best friend."

Craig's expression lightened, sitting up slightly to give Kyle a small kiss. "Nice to know I'm next to that drunk, Stan."

Kyle cuddled Craig close before he snatched up the remote and flipped it to the kid's channel where Red Racer was on. The noirette relaxed, peering passed brown beer bottles. "You'll always be around then? Even if I beat you around like Alabama Man and call you names?"

"Through thick and thin, even if you're an asshole," Kyle rolled his eyes with a grumpiness at Craig's stellar jokes, "I will always be your friend."

Then, out of the blue, Craig had leaned in close, murmuring quietly, "Hey, why don't you let me suck your cock?"

There was that Drunk Craig Kyle knew and loved.

And this time he didn't want to reject him… But he did, because he's a gentleman. And gentleman don't let other gentleman suck each other's cocks.

An hour or two passed and Craig relaxed, sobering up … probably regretting his drunken actions by now.

In a tangled knot of limbs, the two men laid back, looking up at the ceiling. Craig played with Kyle's hands. He was much more sober now as he said rather monotonously. "You didn't see or hear any of that."

"Too bad I did, Craig." Kyle shifted onto his side with a shit eating grin, "I'm not a big drinker but I'll take you out for a few drinks sometime. This time, we'll have fun together."

"How about this," he suggested. "You can come here and we can share a few and pretend not to hate each other. And if I offer to suck your dick, you should take it."

"I'm not going to take advantage of you like that. Besides, I'd… much rather give you head."

Craig rifled through his pocket, fishing out a fag for himself out of his pack. Kyle always got after him for it. Lung cancer isn't fun. But quite contradictory, Kyle would take an occasional puff from it when the chullo man would ask.

The noirette cupped his hand, trying to light it with his finicky lighter.

"You know, I learned something today." Kyle started.

Craig mumbled with the cancer stick still stuck in between his lips, "What?"

"…I think Stan can hold his liquor better than you."

The man gave Kyle a look and attempted to throw him off the couch, all the while Kyle was laughing.

There were plenty of times when Kyle Broflovski worried about his friends.

Because, have you met them? It was like spending all your time at the mental ward for pure enjoyment! But, he never had to worry about Craig.

Craig had Kyle.

And that wasn't an assumption.


End file.
